I hear crying in the shadows, hiding as night falls and pleasantries end. I feel this ghostly energy of death when I see her. Her eyes were a burgundy color as she sat away from the crowd and as the room filled she retreated further away from warm bodies as if she would melt.
There was something about her, I could feel it. The distance her energy traveled to find me was paralyzing. She was alive but also not alive. The deposits of her mood surrounded me in a last breath sort of way but it was far from being so drastic. She ran to the corner at the edge of the shadows where she sat alone.
There it is again, cries cutting through the darkness, my heart could hear the weeping though my eyes couldn’t see the tears. Like my uncle’s old hunting dog I traveled the scent of brokenness to find her. Those frail shoulders, I placed my arms around them and we wept together. She looked up with those sad eyes and asked in this shrieking sound, “what’s wrong with me?” I said, “nothing little one, you’re just feeling some heaviness, that’s what makes you human, but your tears, well they make you special”. With her head low and her heart heavy, she cried a little longer but I knew that she was going to be just fine – I could finally see her tears.
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